


come into my arms

by opheliahyde



Series: tumblr "type of kisses" prompt meme fills [2]
Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Coda, Drunken Kissing, Episode: s01e11 Remedial Battle Magic, M/M, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-06-03 01:34:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19453627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/opheliahyde/pseuds/opheliahyde
Summary: Seth during S1. Eliot needs to get to bed. Quentin helps.





	come into my arms

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scorpiod](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scorpiod/gifts).



> For the tumblr prompt _Goodnight Kiss_. 
> 
> Title from _Delirious_ by Susanne Sundfør.

Eliot is _ heavy.  _

Quentin had forgotten, or maybe he hadn’t remembered right—Eliot’s body balanced over his and Margo’s shoulders, riding the emotional high as alcohol buzzed through his veins, making his memories fuzzy. But now Eliot was a dead weight, his arms looped around Quentin’s neck, his legs half dragging, knees too wobbly and bent at an angle as he clung to Quentin. 

“You’re too big for this,” Quentin says, trying to heft Eliot up to be somewhat stable on his feet, but Eliot just laughs, puffs of hot air breezing over his ear, acrid and pungent scent of alcohol filling Quentin’s nose. 

Eliot ducks his head into the crook where Quentin’s neck meets his shoulder— _ nuzzling him _ —his curls brushing over Quentin’s cheek. “And you’re short, Q. Did you know how short you were? I could rest my head on yours.” 

“Yeah, I’m too short to be carrying your giant ass, but it seems the booze has turned your legs to noodles,” Quentin grumbles, but keeps his hold around Eliot’s torso secure— just a few more feet and they will make it to Quentin’s room; there was no way he was going to attempt the stairs, not by himself and not with Eliot in this state. “If you vomit in my bed, you’re cleaning it up in the morning.” 

“Oh, Q, you’re taking me to your bed?” Eliot says, pressing his forehead to Quentin’s temple, his breath humid and overbearing, his feet stopped cooperating. “Are you going to take advantage of me in my weakened state?” 

Quentin gasps out, breaks into a manic kind of laughter. “No, definitely not. I’ll be sleeping on the sofa.” 

Eliot makes a low noise, deep in his throat, sharp-pitched, like a whine. “Shame.” 

They make it to his room without any delay, Eliot cooperating more as his body grows closer to unconsciousness. Quentin had meant to pull back the covers and help Eliot down onto the mattress gently, making sure he laid on his stomach, but Eliot saw the bed and flopped down before Quentin could grasp the edge of his blankets, curling up in a circular heap in the center like an oversized cat, breath heavy and even. 

_ At least he wasn’t on his back _ , he thinks, mouth curling at the corners as he edged away from the bed. He almost makes a clean escape, but Eliot grabs for his wrist when he goes for a pillow, his grip firm, fingers locked down against his pulse point, rubbing circles against the bare skin with his cool, smooth fingertips. 

Quentin’s throat feels thick, like a lump he can’t swallow, that aches and thuds, flushing from his cheeks to his collarbone. 

“No goodnight kiss?” Eliot asks, half sitting up, his lips pursed and eyes half-lidded. 

Quentin lets out a shaky laugh, more of a giggle if he was being honest with himself, then leans over and presses a dry, firm kiss to Eliot’s forehead. “Goodnight, El,” he says, reaching up to brush back the tangle of curls that had fallen over his brow, stroking through his hair for a moment, unable to stop himself.

“I’m sorry,” Eliot says, not letting go of Quentin’s wrist, but hold loosening, thumb pushing under his shirtsleeve. “I’m kind of a huge fuck up.” 

Quentin feels something loosen, like untying a knot, deep in his gut as his mouth quirks to the side. “That makes two of us.” 

He doesn’t duck or dodge, or stumble back—maybe he should have, maybe he should have made an attempt, at least—but Quentin stays in place as Eliot surges up and pulls on Quentin’s arm, their mouths colliding, then fusing as Eliot kisses him with his bitter, slick mouth. Quentin doesn’t pull back, but falls forward, knee coming up to rest on his bed as he pushes into the kiss, tongue swiping up the stale taste of old alcohol and his fingers grasping at Eliot’s hair. 

Eliot pulls back,his eyes blown black and shining in the low light, breathing into Quentin’s mouth. “Stay,” he says. “Please.”

Quentin swallows, heart beating like a battering ram, blood rushing to his head and he can’t think straight. “Okay, okay, just to sleep,” he breathes out, and then he climbs all the way into his bed, lets Eliot wind around him. 

“Just sleeping,” Eliot says, yawning in his ear, his long limbs curling like vines, arm thrown over Quentin’s chest, tugging him against Eliot as Eliot buries his face against the side of Quentin’s neck. “Just sleep, Q.” 

Quentin feels Eliot drift off against him, deep breaths steadying as Quentin counts down the number, feeling his eyelids droop, then fall shut completely. 

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi to me on [tumblr](http://richiesseth.tumblr.com)!


End file.
